


The Wrench Bench

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [3]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Rough Sex, Witty Banter, doing it on the wrench bench, slight drunkeness, the wrench bench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: A few people requested a follow-up to 2AM Takedown with Wrench/Reader doing the nasty on The Wrench Bench. Can be read by itself, but if you're here for Wrench smut and haven't read the previous fic, then go forth - treat yo self.No warnings.If you'd like something to listen to while reading (that's NSFW just as much as this fic is) I made a Wrench Wrecker playlist to accompany my writing here https://open.spotify.com/user/1248140777/playlist/4Nt0ZqYqA67vXTTIdLcNpk





	The Wrench Bench

Sleep came pretty easily, which, given how bone tired you were and what all happened in such a short span of time, doesn’t surprise you. There’s a moment while you're flopped half-asleep against the couch, that someone moved you. Breathing heat presses underneath you and though you grumble and elbow whatever it is that's messing up your delicious sleep, you give in once everything goes still again. 

You sleep for who knows how long, only knowing that it isn’t enough.

Awareness comes back gradually. Your vision rises and falls, unstable and with a sleepy blink, you roll your head to the side, smelling musky cotton and feeling warm, firm heat. The sound of a squelching pop and gurgle snaps your eyes open. Underneath your face, Wrench’s lean stomach twitches as he sleeps… he’s beneath you, with your back pressed between his legs and an arm slung over his thigh. 

It explains who and what had shifted you in your sleep, but not why. You lay there, inhaling quietly as the fogs of sleep slowly begin to vanish. That candid, grumpy phase of just waking up makes you close your eyes again, relaxing your spine between Wrench’s thighs. Try as you might to expunge the tension in your body, the very fact that Wrench is sleeping underneath you, the solid heat of his crotch between your shoulder blades makes it a hard task.

Add all the muscle aches from last night, and you feel like garbage...

Your legs, especially, feel like hot rods, in varying degrees of numbness and absolute pain. There’s a hazy recollection of Wrench offering you a stale joint that he’d fished out of some metal box. It had looked pretty unappealing, nestled amongst nails, micro screws and welding slack, but despite that, you seem to remember Wrench looking charming as he offered it with a series of question marks and double x’s. Thankfully, you recall Marcus stepping in to save you from yourself, handing you a bottle of water and some Excedrin instead.

Did you and Wrench end up smoking that joint, though? Shit, you hope you didn’t. There'd been enough excitement for one night. For you to go and add getting high to the mix, especially high with whatever dinosaur of a joint that thing had been, would have been suicide. 

That tang of old weed isn’t swimming inside your mouth, but the rank flavor of staleness and old salt makes you groan around your tongue. You need a shower… and based on the dense musk you can smell over Wrench’s stomach, so does he. Despite the fact that he’s dirty and should be - in retrospect - pretty gross, you twist in his lap, careful not to dig a shoulder into his balls and rub your cheek down the hard line of his navel, inhaling the sweaty musk. Somewhere under the smell, you think you can make out the bitter undertones of cum and sex… but…

“Well, look who’s up,” the soft, charmingly amused tone of Sitara forces your eyes back open. 

You jerk, startled and a scant second later you feel a swelling against your spine. Wrong time for morning wood, you think, holding your breath as Sitara raises a perfectly slim brow.

Wrench inhales, boner rising stiffly between the both of you and snores behind the mask, thigh twitching under your swinging arm. For a second you tense, ready to run, but Sitara’s fresh face just smirks down at you. Her arms are crossed loosely around her baggy sweater - she’s smug as fuck but what else did you expect? She’s the only one you’d confessed your ‘harmless’ interest in Wrench. Hell, you were surprised she hadn’t said ‘told you so’ yet. Then again, the morning was still.... Well, you weren’t sure what time it was actually.

“W-what time is it? - and where is everyone?” You ask; voice tarnished with sleep and all the shouting, screaming and moaning you’d done last night. Wrench’s dick remains rock hard between your shoulder blades, making you blush and stutter enough to feel nervous for the both of you.

“Josh is here, compiling that code we were working on for ProviBlue… I don’t know where Horatio and Marcus ran off too, but my guess is they’re hunting down a speed boat for the races next week.”

You blink, sitting up enough that Wrench’s cock drags against your spine. He releases a noisy puff of breath and mumbles something behind the mask, but a quick glance shows double z’s - still asleep and dead to the world. Thank fuck for that… or maybe not. Being one with the dick, he would know what to do in this situation more so than you. Would Wrench even care to be worried? No, probably not. The guy didn’t seem to be ashamed about that sort of stuff - didn’t appear to be ashamed of all that much actually. While it was so alien to you - that concept alone - it was admirable. It was another reason you loved him… or liked him so much.

Wait… what had Sitara said about the bank, again?

“ProviBlue Bank? What? - did I miss something about that?” You ask, but the fact that Marcus and Horatio are going down to the docks reminds you of last night. They’ll be around the water market, the same storefronts you’d been looking at while Wrench’s cum leaked out of you.

Shit… Half of you had been within view of the cameras while he’d had you on your back. His mask had been off too, but he'd been angled away from the market, aimed towards the bay. You're sure of it now, but you hadn't thought about that at the time, and with the realization, you start to feel a sheer, cold sweat leak out over your skin.

Mentally, you add that to your list of videos to look for, along with you and your half naked ass running with Wrench through the streets. Nudle is going to miss some interesting videos by the time the day is over. You’ve got some cleaning up to do.

It’s not that you're ashamed of your ass or whatever you'd looked like while Wrench had your legs draped around his hips, fucking you in that random person's boat, but fuck if you're going to let others see it without your say so or his closely guarded face for that matter… if they even caught it on video. The hunt for that footage will help center your mind anyways.

Sitara clears her throat like music skipping beats. With a sly look she rasps, “Isn’t that what you and Wrench were doing? - hacking their ATMs?” 

There’s a soft smirk there on Sitara’s face that says she knows damn well what happened last night, but she’s too chill to gloat about it. For her ‘discretion’ you’re thankful. Right now you still feel brain dead and only half coherent after the cluster fuck and very literal fuck from less than eight hours ago. You shift your thighs under the guise of shifting your ass out from between Wrench’s legs, but look for and find that soft rawness leftover from the sex you’d had. The tender drag of well-worked flesh coupled with his erection sliding down above your ass makes you wish Sitara and Josh had gone out on a long, very long caffeine run.

Fuck… last night had been all sorts of crazy.

With a smile, you hope doesn’t look as nervous as you feel, you part your lips, “Yeah… so I’m a little hazy on the details but can I assume that’s why one cop turned into two, and two turned into three?”

“Most definitely,” Sitara says, “come on. Wrench finished off what was left on the beer shelf last nights he’ll be useless, and I’ve got something I’d prefer your eyes on.”

Anything for Sitara, but… you blink, eyes crinkling in a wordless plea and look up at a knowing smile on her face. Why do you have to be so readable? - or maybe you’re not, maybe Sitara’s just that observant. You hope it’s all her as she chuckles softly, “Wow, up already, huh?”

“Just…” you mumble, “don’t make a big deal about it, please?”

It’s not easy leaving the couch, and not just because you were hiding the extremely graphic line of Wrench’s hard dick behind his jeans, but also because you’d have been pretty fucking comfortable just lying there for the rest of the day. Too curious and shocked, to be embarrassed, you study the raised outline of his cock with a narrowed look. 

No wonder you’re sore.

As you situate your pajama shorts - tangled around your waist - you mentally add a box of magnum condoms to your list of things to get today. Jeans, belt, new phone, keys, and condoms… the big kind.

Wrench doesn’t move much but to throw his ‘login ****’ hand around his crotch, looking for the lost weight and heat of your body before he deflates with a quiet snore, thankfully covering up his morning wood with a palm. It looks sketchy, but it’s better than Josh walking in on his way to grab a drink only to get stopped by Wrench and his monster dong.

You and Sitara share a look as Wrench kicks up a heel over the armrest, scoots his ass deeper into the cushions and mutters your fucking name behind that spiked mask. You’d kill for a sinkhole to swallow you up right about now.

“I can explain that,” you offer, with no actual intention of doing so.

Sitara shrugs, grinning, “It’s your funeral, but I gotta hand it to you, LowRes… I may have been underestimating you all this time. Girl’s got some 4K attitude hiding behind all those blurry pixels.”

You’re gonna choose to take that as a compliment and leave it at that.

Wrench makes a ragged, synthy snore. That long tattooed arm of his slips over the edge of the couch; slack with dead sleep. He’s moderately comatose even though you and Sitara spend the rest of the morning working on exploits in the DedSec app with the music on full blast, checking the headlines from WKZ TV and laughing unabashed. Between compiling code and running algorithms, you find the two videos you’d been searching for in a background feed, save them to your desktop and run a sweep across the networks, removing any traces of you a Wrench from the grid. 

You step out around noon, Wrench still asleep with his masked face shoved down into the cushions, shins bent over the armrest. His converses twitch as you give him a quick run down, screwing your lips up before snapping a quick picture of his ass with your new phone. 

Manually, you add in your first contact: Wrench The Wrecker, with his jean-clad ass as the contact pic. With a little smile, you wave Sitara off, throw on a pair of shades and head out through Gary’s Games and Glory. 

You don’t see Wrench until later that evening.

Everyone’s gathered in the lobby of the game store, filling the small Battledome with regulars and newbies alike. 

Like Josh, you would have rather hung out on your laptop, relaxing in the comfort of DedSec’s Main Headquarters but you're here despite how much you’ve tried to sink into the walls. Luckily a game of Grandmastery is at that sweet spot just before one or both of the players rage sets in and it's a welcome distraction from the pulsating music and general chatter. 

You park yourself on a barren stool by the game, heels in the uppermost support, resting your elbows on your thighs comfortably. Another few gulps of beer and a few nerdy screams make you feel less claustrophobic than before. More at home almost. 

“You can't do that! My level eighteen Wizard Lutherand has way more DP than your precious Templar, even if he is level twenty!”

“Dude, roll the dice already…”

The friendly argument over DP and AP filters into the techno music and background conversations as your mind wanders. 

You shift your thighs subtly, still feeling that tickle of rawness - it makes you feel dangerous… secretive. Badass, you guess. Never before have you done anything like last night. Sure, you were what the police called a criminal: hacker, but aside from helping to topple leading corporations and deliver personal blows to greedy scumbags, you weren't known for being rebellious. 

What even was it that Wrench saw in you anyway? You weren't so self-conscious to not admit you were cute. Too many guys had hit on you, and some that even went so far as to genuinely call you beautiful, so if his interest was physical, that you could understand. But Wrench wasn't like that… if he wanted some heater with nothing else going for them, then those were easy to find in Frisco. 

When your beer tips back empty, you give the tabletop game a cursory look before heading out for another drink. Usually, you're a one-beer kinda chick, but you outran the cops last night, fucked Wrench, and you're gonna have a second beer. 

You're LowRes… but right now you're still running hot on the fumes of last night. And chicks that run from the cops don't stop at one beer. 

The cooler is jammed packed with cold ones, but before you can grab one, a tattooed hand, rippling with hard tendons and a spiked red brace plucks two out of the ice. 

Wrench. 

You swallow a telling sound as he wiggles the bottles - glass clinking melodically - and pops off the caps. From the look of his shoulders and spine, he's not nearly as drunk as most people here. He looks at you with double x’s that shift into a tilde-caret wink before handing you a beer, dripping with condensation.

With a wan smile, you take the moist beer as bright double nine’s flash towards you. Wrench slurs dramatically, “So, what’s a fruitloop like you doing out of its wrapper?”

With a lazy tilt, his LED-gaze skims your bare legs, flashing underscores. You’d foregone new jeans for a factory faded pair of shorts… feeling daring in more ways than one. The fact that Wrench notices, and appreciates the view doesn’t help the state of your ruddy cheeks or your humble disposition neither.

“Too much? How about... you’re like if a siren and a succubus,” he pauses, angling the beer bottle and gives it a rough hip thrust, “bumped uglies! Of course, in this scenario, two mythical females can reproduce and you, my criminal cohort, are the result.”

For a second you just stand there and blink before narrowing your eyes at the little puddle of beer his hip thrust splashed on the floor, “Better, but that can’t be your best idea of a pickup line?”

“Wait. Are you not already seduced? I was told you’d already be seduced.”

“That’s some bad intel, Wrench,” you admonish, taking a cold swig of beer to wet your nerves. Now that you know how he sounds when he cums, things feel… stressful to say the least. 

Wrench leans in close - an elbow on the counter - and in a hushed, serious static asks, “Wait, so, are we straight? I mean… do you...” His hand opens and curls between you two as if trying to pluck the rest of the words from thin air. You can understand his hesitation, and after the way he’d flipped a one-eighty without the mask last night, the loss for words doesn’t surprise you. In fact, his nervous behavior lessens your own. It’s almost endearing.

“It’s all a bit blurry towards the end,” you admit, eyes flipping across the crowds of people, “and I'm pretty sure you bruised something last night. I feel like I was in a car crash… it’s sooo weird.”

Wrench’s underscores fold into sad slashes, followed by double x’s, “Yeah, that wasn’t very cool. Fucking brain wasn't working right, I guess.”

“If most of my blood went south like that, I’d be a bit absent minded as well,” you joke, offering him a one-sided smile. Wrench’s x’s flash into double caret’s, making you feel a little lighter; bolder than before. In a soft voice, you ask, “Does this mean we’re fuck buddies now?”

Wrench’s shoulders square back; spine straightening. It makes him appear a couple inches taller - makes you think about other guys you’ve hung out with… that instinctive male hubris pulling up in his chest. It doesn’t look bad on him, but you’re not used to one night stands if that’s what happened last night and he’s one of your best friends, which adds a whole nother level of worry on top of the usual nerves.

“No,” he blurts, and then clears his throat in an electric rumble, “I mean, not ideally.”

“So, you don’t regret it?”

“Fuck no!” Wrench’s voice is loud enough to draw a couple gazes.

Exclamations blink on his mask. Wrench pauses, glaring out at the crowd before pushing his pointer finger and thumb together, leaning further into you. His voice is considerately quieter when he admits, “That shit last night? - that’s going in my book of ‘Wrench Wins,' title pending. Last night was without a damn-doubt the hottest thing I’ve ever done and, I’m just throwing this out there, but would you-”

“Yo, Wrench! Where’s my beer, man?” 

Marcus appears like a phantom, socking Wrench in the arm hard enough that you watch those inward arrows fill up Wrench’s mask before it flips from mad slashes to double zero’s and finally double x’s. 

With a forced smile, you give Marcus a light shin kick, “Pretty sure I stole your beer. You wanna fight me for it?” You shake the full beer, feeling slightly buzzed already, both from the interrupted conversation and alcohol.

Marcus looks a few beers in already, swaying slightly on his feet but he’s a fun drunk, and the way he laughs, hissing in fake pain at your jab makes you smirk genuinely. He’s infectious, and despite the fact that he interrupted the tender moment you’ve been waiting months for, you find yourself laughing despite the unamused underscores gracing Wrench’s mask.

Marcus grins, “I dunno if I wanna make that bet. Sounds like LowRes went HighDef last night. You keep hanging out with this man over here, he’s gonna rub off on you.” 

He slings an arm around Wrench’s shoulder, whose mask has switched to equal signs - still unamused. You blush, but amongst all the drinkers tonight you hope anyone who sees, especially Marcus, will chalk it up to the alcohol. The vivid memory of Wrench tensing - your palm tracing his jawline - as he came inside you, bubbles up, effortless over the alcohol in your system. 

“There are worse things in the world,” you mention off-handed, pretending as if your looking out at the party goers, definitely not watching Wrench’s mask shift into emotes of double zeros, then double carets. If he slips up and gives you those hearts here, someone will most surely see. Would that be so bad, though? Secretly, you relish the idea of Wrench giving himself up like that. Looking at you with digital affection for the whole party to witness.

“Yeah,” Marcus mumbles, “fuck, before you know it you’ll be reciting lines from Mad Max and arguing over why bad Predators-”

“Bad Bloods,” Wrench corrects, “they’re called Bad Bloods, M.”

“Whatever, man.”

With a quiet smile, you laugh. “Drunk Marcus forgets who won the Ridley Scott Trivia Night last year. Your’s truly,” you point a thumb away from your beer to yourself, grinning, “I’m already there, Marcus. I’m in fandom hell.”

Wrench snorts and shoves his palm against Marcus’ face, pushing him away with an animated grunt, “It’s almost creepy. I mean, have you seen the forums she’s subscribed too?! Fangirls wet dr-”

With fake anger, you sock Wrench in the shoulder, in the opposite one Marcus punched. If it weren't for your teeth being shoved down into your lower lip, you’d laugh. It doesn’t stop the grin when Wrench gives you a tilde-caret wink, but that’s alright. You were enjoying yourself. And at a party? Who would have thought?! Maybe Wrench was rubbing off on you in more ways than one, perhaps they all were.

“Well, Drunk Marcus is gonna go get that girl's number, near the big-ass wizard statue.” 

“Later, man.”

Marcus takes a beer and falls into a hammy bow before leaving you and Wrench at the counter with the cooler.

In retrospect, there was too much foot traffic to talk about last night, and you were fast on your way to thinking that was a good idea before Wrench throws out his hips, sticks both elbows on the counter and gives you two sly underscores, “Sooo, ya wanna take this party back to the ‘hacienda’?” His subtle finger quotes sell you on the idea if the concept of being alone with him didn’t already.

“Yeah,” you breath, taking a swig from your beer, “This party blows anyway.”

“Oooh, baby. Talk dirty me like that more often.”

Again, you don’t often drink, but you can see the appeal right now. There's enough alcohol in your system to make you feel light on your feet without tying them up. Wrench, well… it's hard to tell how many beers he's had. The man can put them away without too many side effects. It does, however, take him three attempts to type in the code for the HQ before the door finally hisses open. 

Maybe he's nervous. The idea wouldn't have seemed possible until last night. 

Does he want a repeat of the boat incident? - has he been thinking about it all day as much as you have? Hell, you bought those fucking condoms which are sitting in a plastic shopping bag in your locker. It's almost embarrassing to think about it. 

Thoughts elsewhere, you stumble on the last step of the stairs. Wrench keeps you on your feet, a fist in your jacket - the hand stays there even when you wrap your arms around him and sink into the couch, legs folded over his thigh. 

Wrench looks at you with those double hearts again - the bright emotes that makes your stomach feel messy. As his fingers threaded through your hair, you let loose a soft sigh. Sober-you would have been embarrassed at your touchy-feely-ness, but Wrench doesn’t seem ashamed of his glowing affection in the slightest. 

With an easy smile, you whisper like it’s some dirty secret, “I bought some condoms.”

His heart's drop into double zero’s. 

Wrench stares down at you, and behind the mask, you think you can hear his breath pull tight, releasing a ragged groan, “I'm starting to feel like a studded stallion. Pun fucking intended.”

Up against him, with an arm curled around his front, fingers fiddling with the slack of his vest, you ask, “Remember when I said next time we should do it on ‘The Wrench Bench?’”

“I dooo,” he enunciates, “If I forget that little nugget, then there’s a good chance I’m a member of the zombie hordes and should probably be put down. Who would wanna live in a world where I don’t have that to look forward to?”

“I dunno,” you mutter, “depends on which universe your zombie apocalypse happens in, I guess. Remember Shaun of the Dead? That one chick still fucked her zombified husband.”

“Oh, yeah. Man… can you imagine boning a rotten dick? Having to fish it out with forceps, if and when, it fell off in your… well, you know what I’m getting at.”

You give him a look, nose wrinkling, “Woah, and to think I was turned on before. Now I’m soaked.”

Wrench nods, mask flashing at symbols and double x’s, “I was getting worried last night was a fluke or something. Just try to contain yourself. We wouldn’t want everyone else to know how freaky you can be.”

“Speaking of freaky,” you whisper, finishing off your beer with a grin, “Ready for next time? - right now?”

His mask flickers, pulling up exclamations, followed by questions marks. With the anarchy symbol rippling over his throat, he swallows, “This isn’t just us fucking around then? You’re - you're serious?”

“You can define ‘fucking around’ however you want, but my definition involves actual fucking sooo...” you mention it like you're not trying to convince him, but you are. He remains unmoving; body tense against yours. Suddenly your liquid courage falls away and sitting there on the couch with him, you feel too forward. 

Immediately, you start backtracking, “... or fucking around can mean watching ‘Thunderdome’ or-or something… whatever you want to-”

Wrench tugs you up around the thigh, open palm on naked skin and despite your nerves, the alcohol lubricates your muscles as you quickly settle into his lap. The rising pressure of a soon to be erection presses underneath your left ass cheek, making you laugh with relief.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, watching his mask stretch around his jaw; emotes blinking stars. 

“The bench’s too high to look at you while we umm… do it. Are you cool with getting bent over? Also, full disclosure, I'm winging this whole situation pretty fucking hard.”

Your cheeks grow hot as question marks flash over his mask, but nod anyway, smiling when the LED’s fall back into stars.

“So… I take it you've thought about this before?”

“Once or twice,” he admits, with an overly confident lilt to his tone - that typical nonchalant Wrench everyone knows and loves. It’s oddly charming despite conjuring up mental images of him daydreaming about fucking people on his bench… or you, your mind ventures.

“I measured it while you were out picking up your ‘supplies,'” single quotes appear on his mask, “-and it's just a few inches too tall. Unless…” Wrench peers over his shoulder, humming, “I could stand on something.”

“I'll let that be your call, but planning for sex is… weird,” you add, pausing for a second to drink in the situation, “I guess that's what's happening, now that I think about it.”

“I'm finding it incredibly,” his synthesized voice lowers dramatically, emulating some cheesy undertones, “arousinnggg.”

Despite your nervousness, you laugh, only stopping when Wrench growls heatedly, sounding both pleased and smug. His firm grip tugs your hips into his own; middle fingers sliding into your empty belt loops. The touch is possessive, enough to send a little shiver down your spine. The feeling in your gut is different than last night but flashbacks of being in this same position after the car crash - stuck between Wrench’s chest and the steering wheel - makes your gut flip.

The position now is intimate and had you been with someone else, you’d have leaned in to kiss them. With Wrench you’re not sure you wanted to even ask, but… it seems you’re not the only one thinking about it. 

“You wanna make out?” Wrench asks, question marks popping up before shifting into double hearts.

Yes, you nearly shout. Instead, you manage a cool smile, nod and shut your eyes. Carefully, you settle back down over Wrench's thighs, trying to ignore the jab of his semi-hard dick as the world goes dark. Without your vision, you can hear the subtle shift of leather over skin as he slips the mask up over his face. The delicate crumple of fabric makes you think he’s shoved his hood down… and another light jerk conjures an image of him resting his mask on the couch cushion beside you both. 

The idea of his mask being off completely makes your stomach churn pleasantly - like fucking butterflies going at it.

“Yea,” Wrench sighs, sounding raw and…

The rough pads of his fingers trace your jawline, so abrupt that you jerk, gasping quietly. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, “just… wasn’t expecting that.”

He thumbs you chin, tracing your lower lip in a way that makes you feel drunk, despite only having two beers. Your head spins a little and, without thinking, you lick your lower lip, just barely picking up the taste of salt and metal off the edge of his thumb. 

“Wrench,” you say his name, feeling nearly high, “what if someone walks in?”

“Oh, I see. You’re totally cool with someone catching you bumping uglies, yet you're worried about my face? Relax, I’ve got enough time to cover this chud up from the world.”

You frown, about to open your mouth to call him a douche or something along those lines, but Wrench takes advantage of your parted lips, tugging you in a scant few inches before he’s kissing you. It’s soft and chaste… almost juvenile, but his lips are plush and warm, and he smells musky enough you nearly dissolve. 

A tiny, almost shameful moan leaks out your throat as you take the plunge and skim your tongue against the seam of his lips. Wrench twitches, making a clean muffled sound before letting you taste his teeth. Beer and something sweet like skittles soak your tongue, but it’s heated and - maybe it’s your imagination - but you swear you can feel the gentle pulse of Wrench’s heart beat inside his mouth. 

One tiny whimper - from who, you can’t be sure - breaks the brief kiss. When Wrench's teeth nip at your lower lip, your eyes almost dart open. A little line of light cuts in but you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut as Wrench wraps his palms and fingers around your face; branding you with open mouth kisses.

It’s probably the softest make-out session you’ve ever had, and he’s a careful kisser, obviously not being as used to it as others, but every little touch sets you on fire. The hesitant touch of Wrench’s tongue against your own makes you melt like a fucking love-sick puppy. You whimper and sigh and shift closer, brushing the heat between your thighs over his straining erection. Wrench’s cock has gone from half hard to hard enough to beat someone to death with it. 

“... fuck,” you sigh, laughing quietly as he growls in agreement; his mouth skimming down your chin. 

Wrench’s hands brush down your shoulders, spine and settle over your lower back. Each kiss he plants down your throat feels like miniature burning brands. Your eyelids flutter, greeting little flashes of light, but they remain closed. 

This is a trust thing… and you won’t betray his trust, not even for a little peek. You won’t look, but you don’t hesitate to lift your hands up to his head, fingering his short hair. 

You’d gripped his hair last night when he was jackknifing that cock of his inside you; grunting and cursing. Wrench had been too lost to notice, you think, but right now he feels it and pauses, lips hovering over your shoulder. Hot breath leaks down around the naked skin leading up to your neck and saturates the hem of your shirt. You hesitate before fisting his hair to drag him back up for a passionate kiss. 

Without your sight, you hit his nose, then the corner of his lips and chuckle just enough before he twists you in the right direction.

Suddenly, those careful kisses turn hungry and messy. Wrench’s quiet softness is gone, replaced by something like you’d expect out of a sneaky make-out session on the couch. Wrapped up in the motions, you tilt your hips down into his, sucking one of his groans down as you start a steady grind. His teeth scrape your lips, tongue flicking along the roof of your mouth to slip wetly on his own. 

Tiny grunts and moans, along with the subtle wet sounds of smacking lips, fills the HQ. Somehow, kissing him is making you more jacked up than running for your life had. 

Wrench pulls away abruptly, panting, “Fucking shit...you’ve gotta stop moving your hips like that or I am going to pop like New Year’s Eve.”

You pause, squeezing your eyes tightly shut, breathing laboriously, “... sorry.”

The rigid line of his cock - pressed firmly along the crease of your inner thigh - throbs. A part of you wants to see if you can make Wrench cum in his jeans, but that would put a stopper in the evening.

“Did you,” you inhale, feeling breathless, fingers stuck tightly in the loose strands of his hair, “say something about a footstool earlier?”

“Yeah-yep, here.” 

You brace yourself against his shoulders as Wrench moves you around, laying you back against the couch. “Just - wait right there. One second!” He urges.

Unable to help yourself, you laugh softly, feeling light-headed and horny as fuck while Wrench leaves you to stew on the couch. A loud racket comes from his bench - metal banging and glass rattling. Something shatters, and Wrench mumbles a ‘fuuuck’ as you shift, bumping his mask with your hip. It wouldn’t actually be peeking if you looked at his mask… but you don’t, despite always being curious how it looks from the inside.

No peeking, you think, trying to ease your pounding heart and short, eager breaths into something not too obvious. For some reason, it feels like you're about to have sex with Wrench for the first time. Something about last night still feels, and probably always will, like a savage dream.

“Alright,” Wrench breathes into your ear, “everything’s set up and ready so all you’ve gotta do is sit down and get comfy.”

“You’re making this feel like I’m about to get my teeth cleaned.”

“Does this mean I’ve cockblocked myself?”

For a second you tap your chin, trying to look thoughtful, “Well, I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” 

On a more sincere note, you turn towards his warmth, breathing him in before pawing at the mask beside your hip. Gently, you pull the near weightless tech into your palms and ask, “Are you going to put this back on.”

“Eh, I trust you more than I do my own ability to fuck and breathe in it. I’m going to need to modify the seams, probably add some ‘holes’ later if you deem my skills worthy enough for a repeat.” 

Wrench clears his throat, “... have I really ruined this already?”

Without seeing him, you can’t tell his mood just from his tone, but while the bonfire has settled into a low flame, it’s still there. You smile, handing him his mask, feeling his nervous energy when he plucks it from your palms. “Keep it close by just in case anyone shows up. Remember, I’m more worried about you ‘scaring’ them than giving them a free show.”

Wrench exhales in a way that sounds oddly romantic, “Follow me.”

Halfway across the room, guided by Wrench’s hands on your waist and forearm, you pause, “The condoms, I put them in my locker.”

“Yea,” Wrench starts, tugging you back into a slow walk towards ‘The Wrench Bench,’ “one step ahead of you. Went out special today and bought a huuuuge box. Also, FYI, Marcus knows.”

“Asshole,” you mumble; blind as Wrench chuckles and twists you around at the waist, thumbs skimming the little bare patch of skin between your shirt and the shorts. Just that touch alone stokes the fire between your thighs. No, he was far from cockblocking himself. You don’t know what it would take to ruin this, but so far he’s failed to turn you off. 

“Upsy daisy,” he grunts, lifting you up on the edge of the bench. 

Your thighs fall open of their own accord, and despite not knowing what to do with your hands, you reach out and bump his studded vest. With a hard swallow, using the darkness behind your eyes like a mask of your own, you press the leather back slowly, waiting for him to shrug you off. Instead, Wrench rolls his shoulders, letting the vest slip over his shoulders, down his arms. You're further surprised when the sound of more fabric against skin tickles your ears. 

The hoodie comes off, you can feel his bare chest under your fingers and without warning Wrench leans in, lips pressed to yours. 

His kiss is more confident now - deeper - as you sigh, running your palms down his stomach as it curls. The lean muscle under hot skin bounces as your fingers slide towards the hem of his jeans. With a smile and a tongue pressed against his own, you shove a flat palm down the front of his jeans. Past the boxers, there's nothing but soft hair and a hard, pulsating cock. 

“... fuck,” Wrench curses between heavy kisses; breath hot and teeth hard enough to bruise. 

Blindly, you fumble, shoulders bunching forwards to work your fingers between his legs, trying to get his pants undone. It's about as easy as it was last night, but Wrench tugs his hands off your back to slip the front button open. 

You beat him to the zipper, folding away cotton layers until his dick is bouncing free, weeping. 

Wrench starts tugging your shirt over your head before you can wrap your fingers around him. Crisp air hits your skin. Oddly enough, you blush, nearly tasting the touch of nakedness as Wrench breaks your kiss, probably so he can look down as he undoes your shorts. 

Fingers hooked in, spearing denim and thin cotton, he slides your shorts and underwear off in one go. 

Heat saturates your face. You must look like a cherry by now, which only makes the itchy heat spread down your neck towards your chest. It only grows as Wrench presses one of your knees open, exposing you under the fluorescent lights. This… is way more flesh on view than before. 

Vulnerability coats your shoulders, covering you in a soft blush and light sweat. Wrench notices, you can tell from the way his frantic touch becomes sluggish as his thumbs skim the hem of your bra. 

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, sounding so concerned you feel your cheeks start to fucking glow. 

“It's ah-a bit overwhelming,” you admit; voice wavering, “I felt a little less exposed before.”

“Should we stop?” Even though he sounds like that's the last thing he wants to do, it means a lot that he even bothers to ask. You don't want to stop, but you don't want to voice what you really want, either. The claustrophobic feeling would dissipate if you could only open your eyes… but the mask... 

No, you swallow and reach between your shoulder blades, arching your spine to get at the hook on your bra. It loosens - cotton falling away from your breasts - and Wrench’s inhale is so loud in your heightened state that it sounds like a rumble of thunder. Just think about how naked he is and how much rarer is it for him? - you tell yourself. Wrench was fully clothed aside from his jeans hanging off his ass last night… even with your jacket and tank, you'd been more naked than him. His mask is off, and if the rumple of fabric indicates what you assume, then his jeans and boxers are crumpled around his ankles too. 

Calm down, you breathe, rubbing the naked length of his shoulders before daring to run your fingers up his chest towards the line of his jaw. His breath wafts over your face. With a smile, you press a thumb up to the curve below his lower lip and reach up to kiss him. Wrench groans, digging the heel of his hands between your thighs and presses his middle finger between your wet folds. 

Against your lips, Wrench grins as you sigh.

“... slippery,” he remarks, swallowing any retort you might have had with a slanted kiss that makes you melt just that little bit more. It's a little sore when he goes knuckle deep inside you - just hurts enough to send a leftover thrill from the night before through your veins. You moan, scoot across the unpolished wooden bench and sling a calf around the back of his thighs. 

In a mess of teeth and tongue, you sigh his name, hear him groan your own, and without warning, he's slipping that long finger away to fumble at a box behind you. The condoms, you think, taking a moment to cup the side of one pierced ear before reaching down with a fast hand to find his dick sticking upwards; pounding with blood. A few strokes brings up a bead of pre-cum, flooding over the hot metal bit as you thumb the sticky leak. Wrench’s hips thrust, stuttering as the sound of plastic tears. 

For a moment you wonder if the dick piercing will hinder the effects of the condom, but as he fists his cock and rolls the rubber down, you forget to care. His hands pull and tug at your thighs, dragging up on the hard edge until the sharp wood cuts into the soft flesh of your ass. It's a good pain; dull and distracting enough to breathe your way through the raw stretch your body suffers around Wrench’s cock as he slides in.

Like getting stabbed, but in the best way possible, you think. 

The pinch of pain must be visible because Wrench mumbles a throaty apology. 

Warm skin meets your own; hip bones digging into your inner thighs, which means Wrench has, against all logic, managed to put all of that dick in you. The realization is shocking despite knowing it's been this deep before.

Wrench’s hands wander over your hips, tracing the soft slope leading over your ribs towards your breasts. Pulling back, hissing behind his teeth, Wrench grabs on just under your tits and thrusts forward. 

It's not careful, but it's not rough either - it's perfect. 

Every churn of his hips edges that line of discomfort and bliss, going steady despite how heavy he pants. Each slide of his cock stokes that fire back into a fucking blaze. Your nerves melt away, replaced by a desperate need. With a staggered moan, you cross your ankles just above Wrench's ass, bracing a palm on the bench and another around the back of his neck; holding on. 

No sight, just sensation. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the way Wrench’s gasping breaths flow hotly down your front, tickling your hard nipples until they ache. The eager slaps of skin between your thighs - the stretch of your insides around his pounding cock. It rushes like sparks up your belly, making your heart beat and pound and… it makes silly things come out of your mouth.

It’s a messy declaration, something droll, you think, but whatever you admitted must have been what Wrench wanted to hear because his hips pause, hands molding you further over the edge before his lips are open on your own and the steady pace he’s set has become violent and needy. That little tender spot inside throbs with each thrust; dull shocks of bliss forming a hot ball in the center of your gut. 

“Oh-fuck me,” you whine, knocking some empty can of soda over as your breasts bounce against every fucking toss of his hips. Wrench grunts against your mouth, cursing your name in the same breath he hisses a ‘fuck’ and a louder ‘holy fucking shit.' 

You swallow, nodding urgently, ripping your hand off the wooden desk so fast to wrap it around his shoulder that the skin catches a splinter.

“Fuck it,” you hiss as your finger throbs with pain, but Wrench misinterprets your words in the best way possible. His hands leave your tacky skin, bracing against the shelves behind you and beats his cock into you over and over and over again until your throat goes raw and heat flashes into your cheeks. You hug him around the neck, squeeze your legs around his hips until your toes go numb and slap a hand over your mouth.

You’d screamed. 

Shit - fuck… you’d screamed, and you’d still be screaming if not for your palm over your lips, trying to keep your noises below deafening as pleasure shoots deep and fast. This is it, you think, stuffing your face into the sweaty, tense line of Wrench’s shoulder. His cheek feels hot against you temple, and puffs of breath blow hair away from your ear. 

His pace doesn’t slow - like some fuck-robot on a mission. 

You grin, breathless and open your mouth along his neck, sinking your teeth into that muscle between pulse point and shoulder. Salt hits your tongue and though it’s frantic and uncoordinated, you manage to sneak a hand down between your bodies, feeling his stomach snap along your forearm. Against the light hair running down his front, and the smooth, slick flesh he fucks, you find the swollen bud of your clit and rub it until little white dots flash behind your eyes.

When you come undone, holding your screams against his shoulder, Wrench chokes. That short grunt last night becomes a snarl - a long, thick whimpering grunt that leaves you quivering around him, inside and out. Without warning, Wrench slides out of you, leaving you raw and empty and hollow. Your eyes flicker - startled - as he tugs you off the edge, twisting you around until the body-warmed wood meets your soft tits. You arch, afraid of pulling splinters out of them after the moment's over, but that’s quickly forgotten when that emptiness is filled; sharp and smooth enough you make a sound eerily close to a porn star.

“You can,” Wrench gasps, taking a deep breath before picking his pace back up, “open your eyes.”

The lights are blinding at first, searing pain as Wrench thrusts into you from behind, both of his hands planted on your ass, thumbs pulling you open. That part of you burns, as if he’s studying the way his cock slips and pulls against your tight walls. It kicks another orgasm into full gear. 

This one creeps up like a wildfire, engulfing you down to your knees. As you scramble along the surface of Wrench’s bench, trying to find some sort of purchase while he grunts with each smack of his hips into your rear end, your eyes pick up the blurry edges of his outline. 

“Wrench,” you sigh, feeling the sweet dregs of your second climax start to lull into something almost too much. With a tense spine, you breathe through the heightened sensitivity, watching him fuck you through the grimy reflection of a dark monitor on the shelf in front of you. It’s dim and glaring under the light, but you can see him… and he’s hot as fuck. 

“Wrench - I can,” you start, unable to finish when he slaps a palm down on the wood beside your elbow, squeezing the meat of your backside and fucks you hard enough the monitor starts to shake.

“I know,” Wrench admits, bowing his head until his bangs fall into his eyes, obscuring the already complex image of him. You whimper, taking each jagged stab of dick until your eyes start to water and another crushing orgasm starts to build.

A bottle of something shakes loose, falling off it’s perch to the floor. Another can topples and rolls and - with your eyes fixated on the monitor - you watch Wrench’s spine curve, shoulders tensing, as he cums. It’s hard to feel it, but the soft twitch of his cock teases that third orgasm enough that you roll your hips back into his, fucking yourself until the pleasure snaps and floods while he’s stumbling through his first. His silent, open-mouthed reflection will fuel more than a few dirty dreams and lonely nights. It’s not a good view… but if you bumped into him in a crowd without the mask, you think you’d recognize him.

Whether it was Wrench’s intention for you to see him or not, he doesn’t mention it. 

With a hiss, Wrench slips out of you, fingers bruising your right ass cheek. The unexpected way he says ‘oh, shit’ means there's probably a hand print there, but that’s alright. Just another little reminder of the past two days. 

Wrench was rubbing off on you, just like Marcus said… and now you know Marcus was aware of what you and Wrench had been up to last night when he said that. Bastard, you think, almost laughing but even as Wrench stumbles in the reflection, scrambling to get his mask back on, you can’t manage more than a series of heavy inhales. There isn’t enough oxygen in the HQ to satisfy your starved lungs… let alone Wrench’s. 

You blink and frown as those at symbols light up on his covered face. They blink into exclamation marks and sad slashes before he’s helping you up, hooking an arm under the backs of your thighs to lift you back up on the bench, looking worried.

“...fuck,” you laugh breathlessly, staring at the myriad of black ink scattering his chest, “why am I surprised you’re covered in ink?”

Wrench’s mask blinks question marks before looking down. Double x’s pop up and with a forced shrug he scoffs, “What can I say, I’m a walking billboard of iconography.” There’s a rasp to his static-laced words. Leftovers from the crazy fuck just now, you think, blushing. 

You’re still naked aside from your sneakers… and Wrench is carefully rolling off the condom in a way that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

Aside from old photos of a trip to Swelter Skelter - an event you’d missed a month before joining DedSec - you’ve never seen Wrench out of his usual getup. He’s less thin than you’d expected. Soft hair dusts down his chest, light enough that you might not have noticed it if you weren’t absorbing every little detail of him before the opportunity was gone. 

“Fucking damn it,” he curses, rubber snapping and a glob of cum falling to the floor.

“Bummer,” you comment, smirking as Wrench drags his hands through the air; mad slashes glowing, before rubbing the cum into the floor with the heel of his chucks.

“There! None the wiser,” Wrench says as his shoe squeaks through the mess, “unless you’re gonna go telling on me.”

“No, I’m alright with keeping this between the two of us,” you smile, watching him tie off the end of the condom and dump it in a bin off to the side. You lean forward, breasts swaying and grip the edge of the bench as Wrench tugs up his jeans, buttoning them loosely around his hips. There’s an awkward stance to him that you know the reason behind… but there’s no good way to bring it up, so you don’t. Instead of saying anything you keep smiling, grinning when he gives you a good run down from top to bottom with those stars of his. 

You think, by now, you might know what the stars mean, but again, you don’t mention it.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

And there it is…

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling your lips twitch at the corners. No frowning, you tell yourself, watching Wrench's mask as he emotes ellipses and then equal signs. 

“If it helps any… I think you’re very handsome,” it sounds so sappy, but maybe sappy is good right now, “I mean, even if it was through a dirty black monitor, it got me off.”

“Now you’re just trying to get in my pants,” he chuckles, sounding less nervous. The edge of something vulnerable is still there, but he’s either good at masking it or you’ve helped more than you thought.

“Guilty,” you smile, blushing as his mask tilts, snatching another look at your naked chest.

“Just, for the record,” he says, taking a step closer, “if anyone asks,” another step and you spread your knees to accommodate his closeness, “you never saw this.” Wrench makes a fluttering gesture around his mask, staring at you with double x’s. His naked stomach curls as his palms lay over your thighs; thumbs rubbing back and forth towards the tender insides of them.

“Fair enough, but,” you dare a look at the empty stairwell, swallowing, “if anyone asks about the screaming, can we agree I stubbed my toe or something?”

“Hell no! As soon as you get these bad boys covered,” he nods at your breasts, “I’m going to strut around like a frat asshole all night. That LowRes rep of your’s is crushed asunder.”

“Tears in the rain,” he quotes dramatically. It’s all well and good to have Wrench back in proper Wrench order, but all joking aside, you’ll slip hot sauce in his red bull next time if he so much as brags to Marcus about tonight. Well… maybe not. You kind of like the idea of being adventurous.

With a heavy breath, a pinched face and all the sarcasm your well-fucked brain can manage, you sigh, “Alright, well, thanks for the sex and all, but a relationship is based on trust, and I just don’t see this working out.”

Wrench pauses, missing the point as his mask beams hearts. His thumbs pause, fingers tightening on your thighs, “Relationship?” He blinks, question marks appearing before you, “I was trying to ask you earlier, but Marcus has shit timing. Would you - like to - do the… dating thing? I know the mask makes it weird, but-”

“It doesn’t,” you say it too loudly, startling him into exclamation marks, but you narrow your eyes, repeating yourself. “It doesn’t make it weird and… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier. It’s fine with me, and yes.”

With a shy smile, more like your usual face, you reiterate, “I’d like to the dating thing with you.”

“Okay. I mean - good! Cool. Awesome.”

The both of you look at each other silently for a few moments before you break the tick and smile - smiling wider as his thumbs start skimming you inner thighs again and the double carets you know and love pop up. It’s settled then… face or no face you like Wrench way too fucking much to get worried about hang ups like masks and insecurities. You have your own fair share of quirks and Wrench has his, but you don’t focus on that. Instead, you focus on his hands as they walk up your stomach, over your ribs and with all the finesse of a perverted mime, Wrench take his first handful of your tits and you laugh.

Second best night of your life ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and to those that lit a fire under my ass to do a follow-up to my first attempt at writing Wrench. He's a blast to word around. If you have the time, I'd love to hear what you thought of this, any feedback, con-crit or what-have-you would be most appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you to Darth Fucamus, for making sure this reads smooth and for the encouragement to get this finished! <3 Until next time.
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


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